


Love Conquers All

by SambliongPalpatine



Category: The Borgias (2011)
Genre: Finding each other again, I'm bad at fanfics, I'm bad at tags, Love, M/M, Parting, Series-versed, violence and death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2018-10-16 17:49:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10576374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SambliongPalpatine/pseuds/SambliongPalpatine
Summary: The progress of Cesare and Micheletto's relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello! I'm back in the world of FanFiction haha proving luck with this fandom. i've shipped them since I first saw the show all those yeats ago but didn't have the chance or the plot ideas to write this until last year. I hope you enjoy it and that, if possible, you leave kudos and feedback (mostly feedback because this would be really helpful, specially with any grammar mistakes) And as I always ask, if any of you want to be my beta please do! I need one.  
> Now, go read (; I'll post another chapter someday this week, promise.

 

Micheletto was an assassin because that was what he was good at, being illiterate as he was, if one cannot read or write there is not much else to do. So he was in the business of death, and he was very good at it. At first he did not like it or enjoy it but it was good money and he had to live of something, right? He told his mother nothing; the woman did not need to know what her son had become, so he told her he would study to become a dottore, which would never come to pass.

Rome offers a variety of clientele so that is why he likes it there, and because it was a beautiful city, with many other… diversions. He was currently tasked with the murder of a cardinal, Rodrigo- soon to be Pope Alejandro Sixtus- Borgia, orchestrated by another cardinal, Micheletto smirks at the idea of these so called men of God plotting against each other to gain power, the Papacy of course. God should spit on them all.

He is to poison the man and his son, Cesare Borgia in a banquet that will take place in the Cardinal Orsini’s palace. He is dressed as a cook so no-one should suspect him but well; things cannot always be easily done.

“My God, you are fast,” Cesare says panting, surprise written on his features.

He is the most beautiful man he has ever met, his dark and inquisitive eyes, his brown almost shoulder-length hair and his symmetrical and proportionate face. Micheletto has to remind himself the position they are currently in to not reach out and touch him. It was also obvious he was skilled and fast so it was even harder for him to hold his ground and keep the dagger still.

“For a cook,” he manages to get out. “And you, a cleric.”

Cesare is still panting a little and is looking at him directly in the eyes. “On kitchen duty?”

“For tonight,” he answers, none of them is letting go of the other, yet.

“Who paid you?” the man asks with anger evident on his voice.

“Cardinal Orsini.” Micheletto answers simply, there was no reason to lie about it.

“Whatever you’ve been paid, I’ll double it.” Cesare says. “I could use someone that fast.

Micheletto is tempted to say yes right away, he wants to but he is not going to just yet. “You could?” he asks, pretending modesty, as if he did not know that to be fast was a great skill in this business.

“Oh, yeah.” Cesare whispers, a little bit marveled. They start to let go slowly but there was something not right, Cesare attacks him again once he has let go of his dagger, not his smartest move. “But not someone that stupid!”   

He has to think of something smart to say or probably the other man will try to kill him, with a great chance of success. “I’m far from stupidity, sire.” Micheletto barely can speak with the other man almost choking him. “What I imagine by his offer is that you have… need of me, yes? So to kill the servant you have need of would be stupid,” he spits this last word and there was his smart move, he knew Cesare could use him, he was the best after all and he imagines that the both of them together could achieve great things.

“Call me stupid then,” the other man answers in a calmer voice. “But tell me why shouldn’t I?”

“Because of the Sixth Commandment; You shall not kill,” which is ironic coming out of him.

“I’ll be forgiven, the Pope is my confessor.” Cesare says with a twisted smirk.

“Because you will never meet another assassin like me,” it was true, a show of poor modesty but still the truth. His mamma would be proud of him if only for his honesty.

This seems to convince him because Cesare lets him go. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” and now is him who has Cesare against the wall, just to prove a point and he also lets go after a second or so, returning Cesare his weapon. “We were talking terms,” he says seriously.

  Cesare huffs, “we were.”

“I would gladly work for the Pope, or the Pope’s son. For these Cardinals can, you know, prove fickle. And it seems someone as pitiless as you needs someone as pitiless as me,” he says moving closer to Cesare, who regards him with curiosity.

“Elaborate.” Cesare asks him seriously.

Micheletto looks at him for a moment, choosing his wording carefully and answers in a low serious voice. “I’ve suffocated infants in their beds,” he says it with his gaze directly into Cesare’s, “but only when the parents pay me,” and the thing is, he doesn’t feel anything when he says it. No shame, no disgust; nothing.  To tell the truth, he sometimes did felt regret, when the night was deep and he was alone, those were the times when he allowed himself to feel something.

After that Cesare tells him to give Orsini what he was planning on giving his father, there was nothing in his eyes when he gave Micheletto that order.

The Cardinal suspected nothing, none of them did, all of them distracted with the feast and the chatter. In the original plan Micheletto was to serve the poisoned wine to the Borgias for a toast, now the tables were turned. They were all hypocrites toasting for God when they were planning murders for one another but Micheletto did not care, he was no man of faith anyway.

Orsini died right then and there, accusing Cesare, rather not finishing that accusation, of murder.

Cesare finds him a while later, when all the commotion has died a little. “Excellent service,” he congratulates him.

But this has not yet ended, Micheletto knows. “I’m afraid it is not over yet, my lord.”

“What do you mean?” the man asks confused.

“It is more to the Borgia family that father and son,” he says as way of explanation.

Cesare seems to get a bit angry and grabs him by the collar of his shirt. “What do you mean?” he asks again in a more strong voice.

“I mean we must hurry, my lord.” Micheletto replies, pushing Cesare away. They did have to hurry because the plot was against all the Borgia family. “Your whole family is in danger.”

And so they hurry to the Borgia house. Micheletto runs up the steps to join his companions for this crime.

“Am I too late?” he yells while running towards them.

“We were waiting for you,” one says and gets a dagger, thinking he was faster than him, thinking he could kill him. No-one was faster than him, no-one.

“Then it’s too late for you!” he is the one who kills the other man and with Cesare’s help the others and the dispose of the bodies.

“You planned this massacre thoroughly,” he comments with a neutral tone of voice maybe a bit of surprise leaking through.

“If I had planned it, my lord, believe me we would not be having this conversation,” he answers, voice a bit restrained by the exertion.

“You are that meticulous?” Cesare asks. Micheletto knows he likes this particular detail.

“Always,” he answers, they are both panting some.

“And who planned it?” the obvious following question, Micheletto thinks.

“Cardinal Orsini,” of course.

“And Della Rovere?” Cesare asks suspiciously.

“I know nothing of him,” he says. “In this affair I have but one master.”

“And now?” the other man asks, expectantly.

“And now,” Micheletto answers in a soft, panting voice, “I’m like a stray dog, masterless. Unless your kind offer still stands,” and he knows it does.

“You could have let things take their course, betray me. Most of your kind would do that,” the other man gibes.

“My kind?” Micheletto asks, half offended and half confused. “I do not have a kind. And I suspect that neither do you,” he finishes, and yet again he knows he is right and he cannot help the attraction he feels towards the man, of what nature it is he does not know.

They stay in silence for a moment where Cesare does not deny the previous judgment and takes a second longer to finish convincing himself. “Your name, sweet assassin?” _sweet,_ Micheletto can appreciate the irony of that.

“Micheletto.”

“You must prove yourself worthy of my trust, then,” says Cesare.

And Micheletto was suspecting something of the sort, but still… “Was this not proof enough?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” the man says cryptic.

And oh, proved himself worthy of trust he did.

\---

Micheletto was no longer a young man, he had a sense of loyalty now and it was that same sense, with himself this time, that help him to admit that after a year of working for him, that he was in love with Cesare Borgia. Micheletto was fairly sure that his lord was in love with his sister, as depraved as that is. He has had many lovers and despite having many suitors hasn’t married yet. Also, Cesare is beautiful, he could have been sculpted by God himself and Micheletto knows that he would never look at him with the same eyes Micheletto looks at him.  He knows that the lovers he sometimes manages to get are not because they find him attractive but because they fear him, he knows he is more fearsome than handsome because that is the way he has carved himself. And he was fine with it, until a year ago when he met his lord Cesare Borgia.

At present they have arrived at Forli, his place of birth and where his mother still lives. They are here because his lord is supposed to forge an alliance with Lady Catherina Sforza which might prove quite difficult; Sforzas cannot be trusted.   Micheletto is a little reluctant to have Cesare meet his mother; he hasn’t told him about his mamma’s illusions of him becoming a dottore and also because of Augustino, an old lover of his. In the end his reluctance doesn’t matter for Cesare does meet both.

He behaves well though, he follows the lie that Micheletto is indeed studying and that he is his dottore, he is smiling a lot and making his mamma smile as well. Micheletto just sits there, watching them and repressing a smile; he knows his mother would have loved Cesare because despite it all the man was charming and funny and educated things his mother thought him to be too. She would be disappointed if she knew the truth about him and he is immensely grateful with his lord for not telling on him.

He knows Cesare can feel the change when the news of Augustino’s wedding is revealed, he knows Cesare can tell there is something wrong but he doesn’t ask, instead he tries to keep the good humor when they leave but Micheletto is not in the mood, he still had some feelings for his old lover after all.

Other thing he also knows is that Cesare wants to ask him about his father and knows that he might ask later but as of now, he appreciates that he doesn’t comment on it. They must focus in the task at hand and Micheletto can’t help feeling a wave of uneasiness when he leaves Cesare at the castle. He is not sure who he is reassuring when he says that whenever he is with him, Cesare will always be safe.

\- Micheletto did it all for Cesare, helped him in everything he asked him to help with, kill whomever he needed killed, he was there for whenever Cesare needed him. And he wanted the man more with each day that went by but knew that that was something he could never have. And it hurts; at least when Micheletto allows himself to feel the hurt, when he was with other men and pretended they were Cesare, like right now in Forli when he knows Cesare is with Catherina, he goes to lay with an old lover of his. Augustino; who is soon to be married, as if that was the cure for what he was. Micheletto could never do that, could never pretend he was something he wasn't because if there was indeed a God and it was as merciful as they said he was, then he would forgive him. Even though, deep down, he believes that love is greater than that, that one does not require forgiveness for having loved another, whichever the gender of that someone. Though sometimes he wishes he could find some woman to marry and pretend to love her and maybe someday that lie would he true but he also knows that he is not that person, he is simply now too broken for that, has raw wounds that probably will never really heal. 

His encounter with Augustino is rushed, no foreplay and certainly no romance nor gentle caresses or cuddling afterwards, it's all about finding release and when they do they part ways, forever, and it is not amicable. 

 

Micheletto stays at the cemetery for a while longer, sitting in front of his father's tomb and he doesn't cry for his lost lover or the ache that he allows his heart to feel for his unrequited love for Cesare Borgia. He can't help wondering how his Eminence would be in bed, would he be a gentle lover or a dominant one, would he caress Micheletto's body and cuddle him afterwards? Micheletto would pay gold for the chance to find out. 

\---

When he arrives with the horses back to the castle he finds that Cesare not only did not secure an alliance with Catherina but also won himself her hatred and all because he kept the promise to his beloved sister of getting her, or trying to, her ex husband's heart cut out by a dinning knife. Micheletto smiles inwardly to himself, he cannot help it. It has never surprised him the ruthlessness of his lord, after all he has known since the beginning that Cesare is a lot like him. 

 

They are camping in the forest on the road back to Rome and somehow he knew what was coming. They were sitting in front of a fire, their backs against the fallen trunk of a tree and they had just finished eating dinner. There was no other sound but the crackling of the fire and the occasional huff of the horses, besides that there was nothing else. It was as if the forest held still, awaiting what was possibly coming next; Micheletto feels himself cringe inwardly

 

"Micheletto," he hears the other man say, he doesn't turn to look at him but he can feel his intent stare on him anyway. 

 

Micheletto has his stare placed on the reddish flames in front of him. "Yes?" he answers in his usual calm voice. 

 

"What happened with your father?" straight to the point as always. 

 

He stays quiet for a moment, Cesare's stare still on him. He takes a deep breath and starts talking. "He was a cruel man, he used to beat my mother, I could hear her scream sometimes. He did not beat me until I turned ten but beating me was not the only thing he did. So while my mother thought I was with the other kids receiving an education I was in the fields with my father, working," he pauses; he had never spoken of this with anyone else. "I loved him, in a way but I could not stand him beating my mother anymore. So one day, he was too drunk to notice anything so I strangled him to death.”

Silence falls upon them, Cesare too stunned with this finding to say anything and Micheletto was too stunned by having confessed to say anything so clearly he was not expecting the gentle hand on his shoulder. He still does not turn to look at the other man.

“How old were you?” Cesare asks.

Micheletto looks at the ground and says, “15.”

Cesare lets out a sharp breath and squeezes his shoulder, he leaves his hand there. “You were too young still.”

“I do not regret it, I would do it again if I had to,” he says with a neutral tone of voice.

Cesare huffs a laugh. “I do not doubt you would,” after a minute pause he asks the next thing Micheletto knew he was going to ask. “What of that man, that Augustino?”

Micheletto stares so intently at the fire that he is sure he could relight it. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts and deliberate if telling the truth would be wise. In the end he decides for the truth. “He is an old lover of mine, your Eminence,” and after this he turns his gaze to Cesare’s, his defiantly.

Cesare returns the look and Micheletto fears the worst so when Cesare nods once and leans in to kiss him saying he was stunned is putting it mildly. He reacts fast, as always, and kisses him back. He cups Cesare’s cheek with a hand and threads the fingers of his other one in the man’s soft and already messy curls.

Cesare pulls back after some minutes but doesn’t push him away. “I’m not going to say this often, probably never again after today and we are not doing this often either, alright?” after a small understanding nod he says the words Micheletto thought he would never hear from other’s lips but his mother’s. “I love you.”

And then he kisses him again.

Cesare was beautiful with clothes on but naked... he simply was glorious. He has a lean but muscled body, contrary to Micheletto’s own, his eyes were shining with the light of the flames and his hair that falls around his face looks as if it had an angelic halo, Micheletto has never seen anything like him.

They were laying on their bedrolls, both of them naked and breathing heavily. Cesare was on top of him, mouth pressing kisses to his neck and hands caressing down his torso.

“I know you have done this before but... have you ever-“Cesare cuts himself, maybe not sure of with what to follow that thought but it is not necessary.

 

“No,” he answers. “I have never submitted to anyone else, only to you.”

Cesare shakes his head in disapproval. “I do not want this to be another form of submission, Micheletto. I want this to be you giving yourself freely because you want it as much as I do.”

Micheletto was surprised by his lord’s attitude and his words; he decided it was a good feeling. “I give myself freely, my- Cesare.”

The other man smiled before leaning back up and kissing him deeply.

Micheletto knew that the love he felt that night in Cesare Borgia’s arms he would never feel again; there were no one else’s arms that could hold him the way Cesare’s did. And he also knows that this feeling, this beating of his heart, will most likely be his doom.

***


	2. Chapter 2

Time went by just like that; they had ridden themselves of some enemies, preserved others and gained new ones. That was the way of life in this Rome of theirs and Micheletto was not complaining, he only wishes for his master’s touch again; for Cesare’s lips on his again. The need was driving him mad so he ends up taking a lover, a Florentine he thinks, Pascal. He is a literate young boy of certain beauty, enough for him. He was a good boy and learned Micheletto’s ways quickly which was a pro on his favour. Still he was not Cesare.

For what it seemed he was falling for the likes of Micheletto, how or why he did not know because he was aware that he was a hard man to love. So of course he didn’t suspect a thing, until he found that first letter hidden under one loose floorboard. Needless to say that the betrayal he felt broke his heart. He could not understand what was written on the page but he knew it was not for him and that it was nothing good so he shared this with his lord.

“When did you learn to write?” his lord asks, watching him attentively while he paints on the page the images on his mind.

“I do not read and I do not write but I remember and I copy,” he answers, not leaving the page to look at the other man, “and I must before this fades and is lost.”

His master paces a little and then comes back to look at the result. “What is this?” he asks curiously. And oh, wouldn’t Micheletto like to know that same thing.

“I see pictures in my mind’s eye, shapes on the page,” he explains, panting a little as if tired of the effort of remembering, “like a map that would lead us to war but I,,, I do not know what it means,” he can’t deny the little anxiety he feels when he presents the page to Cesare. 

But his lord seems to figure out how to decode it. “We need a mirror,” and when he gets it Micheletto stands to let him sit and do his art. “Look, this is mirror writing.” Cesare says as a way of explaining what is written. 

“Can you read this?” he asks, a bit urgent.

“These are all numbers; each one of them has to mean something different. It must be a code, book code I think,” he turns slowly to look at him, suspicion clear on his eyes. “And where did you find this?”

But he was not ready to confess the truth of where he found it. “You do not need to know,” but he knows this would only anger the man.

“I’m afraid I must!” Cesare says, louder and grabbing the letter with force.

“The letter, my lord, what does it say?” he wishes he had learned to read when he had the chance, that way he could figure this out on his own because he knew his lord would get angry with him and he really did not want that.

“Nothing as  yet,” the man answers in a low angry voice. “So who did you copy this from?” he asks again and the anger and bit of hurt that he sees in Cesare’s eyes prompts Micheletto to give half a truth.

“Someone I know,” he replies, back to his usual calm tone.

“A friend?” Cesare asks, but Micheletto suspects that deep down he must know it was not just a friend. “Well you make sure he remains your friend. They’ll have a book, find it. The book is the key to this.”

He takes the letter off of Cesare’s hand angrily and walks away.  He has never felt this stupid before and he has never seen his lord this mad with him for some time now. But he will make it better, he must make it better.

 

When he finds the book and goes back to his master’s lodgings they spend almost all evening decoding the letter, for when they are finished it was already dark outside.

The letter doesn’t make much sense at the beginning, at the end the only thing they know for sure is that it involves Catherina Sforza, which was of no surprise.

 

“I could beat it out of him,” he says bluntly and maybe it was time to tell the full truth.

Cesare turns to look at him with tired eyes. “Beat it out of whom?”

“The boy who had the letter,” he answers lowering his voice a little and scared of looking at Cesare in the eyes because he wasn’t sure of what he would find there.

“A boy?” and his tone is low and menacing, “what boy?” and Micheletto knows he knows the answer but just wants to listen to him say it.

“Boy I took to my bed,” he finally admits with no hesitation on his voice and without lowering his eyes.

“The spy you took to your bed.” Cesare’s voice breaks at that last word probably because he feels betrayed in more ways than one and Micheletto hates himself for causing this trouble, for angering his lord and probably hurting him; for taking Pascal as a lover, for being weak and not being able to control his needs.

So he does the only thing he knows there is to do and offers Cesare his dagger. “Kill me now my lord, please? Please,” voice faltering.

Cesare shakes his head. “No, no killing,” he takes Micheletto’s hands and pushes them away. “You must keep on loving this boy.”

Micheletto feels his heart hardening a little. “I can hate and love,” he says, remembering the poem Pascal read to him.

“These words are worth more than gold. They will tell us what she thinks, what she plans.” Cesare stands up and without another word exits the room, leaving Micheletto there to keep basking in his misery.

 

After some minutes he takes a breath and leaves for his quarters where Pascal was certainly waiting for him, the hypocrite. Pascal, with his fake smiles and touches; his fake kisses and, most hurtful of all, his fake love. What of him writing his name because he supposedly missed Micheletto, was that really necessary? He really thought that he would fall for him just like that, just because writing one’s name when they are absent is the language of love? From where did the boy gather such nonsensical meaning? Micheletto sighs and rubs a hand across his face, he can love and hate after all, no?

\---

This last letter, he was not expecting this. He did not like the anger and anguish in his lord’s face and voice while he read it out loud.

“’They suspect nothing, she thinks the King of Naples is a friend.’ My god and I knew, somewhere I knew,” his lord says in a low voice and to no-one in particular, staring ahead.

Micheletto does not quite understand what that is supposed to mean. “Knew what, my lord?”

“He is in league with Catherina Sforza, King Fredrigo of Naples. She chose the wrong brother,” he slaps the table a little and paces backwards in frustration, worried for the wellbeing of his beloved sister. “My sister is no ambassador, She and her child will be kept hostage the moment we attack Forli!” he looks at him and somehow Micheletto knows what is coming next, he sees it somewhere in Cesare’s eyes and it breaks his heart a little bit more. “Kill him, you kill the boy.”

Micheletto cannot refuse. He would never refuse an order from his lord but it is still hard to accept, he never thought he would have to kill someone he loves, or thought he loved, again. He will comply of course, but he will lose the rest of his heart in the process. He had thought that with time he might end up loving Pascal the way he does his master, really naive of him. Even though he is ruthless, pitiless and not gentle a man, and even cruel; not even him can escape from feeling love. And tried he did, in vain.

 

He was not prepared for the pain he felt cursing through his body, nor for the total agony  he feels when he gets back and sees Pascal ready to flee.

“I hate and I love,” he yells, taking off his weapons, “why, you may ask. I do not know but it happens and I-“ he is panting hard; his heart trying to escape from his cell, has his arms stretched horizontally and stares directly at Pascal and in that moment, he thinks, he hates him more than he loves him. “How does it go?”

Pascal is just standing there, looking at him as if he were defying him, quite a mistake to make, thinking he could ever get out of this alive. “I burn,” he answers in a loud voice.

But Micheletto does not want that answer; he wants the Latin because it holds something different, something beautiful and dangerous but yet not quite as dangerous and painful and big as ‘burn’ does. “No, in the Latin please.”

Micheletto is approaching him slowly and he tries to escape, as if thinking he could make it past him but no, Micheletto is faster and he pushes him against the wall. “Excrutior! Excrutior!” Pascal yells, maybe now finally realizing what was happening and starting to fear. Good.

“It is a big word for burn,” and he feels rage surging forward. “Why?! Why did you become my lover, why?”

“Because I was made an offer,” the boy answers simply, in a trembling voice. And even though he already knew this, hearing the truth spoken to your face is never easy.

 “From whom?” he also knows the answer but still. “You enjoy the thrill, the danger, yes?” he yells this last part because he cannot control himself, all these emotions he is feeling, they are just too much for him.

“Yes, yes. I admit I did.”

This only spurs his anger more. “I should flame you alive!” because that would resemble what he is currently feeling, “but I will be merciful.”

 

He pushes Pascal to the middle of the room and lets him go and then he just breaks down, he falls to his knees because it is just too much, he cannot stand it anymore; he feels tears run down his face and he allows it. And Pascal just stands there, looking at him probably with pity but he doesn’t care about it right now. “You tell me how you wish to die, Pascal.”

And the boy has the gut to look surprised, really as if he wasn’t suspecting that this would be his end. “I die?” after realization dawns on him the boy kneels in front of him and in a sure voice says, “in your arms.” And this only helps to finish his heart completely and he cries. Cries all the way through it; cries when he feels Pascal’s blood running down his face, cries when he holds the boy’s lifeless and limp body in his arms and cries as he stands, gathers his scarce belongings and walks to the door. But once he is outside he takes a deep breath, wipes his tears and doesn’t cry anymore.

After the deal is done he leaves Rome.Leaving Pascal’s dead body for Cesare to find. He does not want, he cannot, see his lord right now. He feels guilty, he feels pain and hollowness and betrayal and everything hurts. He can’t be here anymore, not for some time at least so he decides to go home, to his mother’s home. A home that hasn’t been his for awhile now. He does not care about Cesare getting mad, he doesn’t care about anything. There is now a hollow where once was his heart and this time he thinks, he will not get it back.

\---

He knocks on the door to his mamma’s house, it is dark outside and he is tired from the nonstop ride here. He is also tired from all the emotional war inside of him and he only wants food and a bed.

“Oh, God blessed! My bambino is back!” his mother says cheerfully, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tightly. Micheletto smiles a little smile and holds her tightly as well, which of course surprises her. “Oh my boy, are you alright? Why are you here this late? Did something happen?”

He tries to smile more convincingly and shakes his head. “I got tired of Rome, too noisy and busy. And I missed my mamma.”

She smiles broadly and ushers him inside. “Well, you must be tired and hungry, yes? I will get you some nice warm food while you go clean up.”

Micheletto stays there, watching her walk to the small kitchen and after a moment he sighs and goes to clean up.

\---

He had been in Forli for three months now; he was feeling a little less hollow now. Being with his mother certainly helped and also that he is friends with Augustino and Violeta who now have a son called Francesco; curious little thing that inherited his mother’s lazy eye and who, for some unknown reason, has a liking for Micheletto. The boy would coo and smile for him every time they come to his mother’s; they have been visiting her often lately which was good; he has come to enjoy their company, who would have thought.  

Micheletto has a job now, a proper job; nothing that involves his… special _skills._ He is training the horses of a rich lord, for what he does not know. The man explained that horse competitions will be an important sport very soon, therefore the training. Micheletto likes it, he cannot deny it, he just  sometimes misses Cesare and the thrill of working for him.   He had not told his mother the truth yet, he thinks he should tell her to help his soul unburden but he also does not want to gain his mother’s hatred.

“You heard the news, Micheletto?” his mother asks him one morning, while she was preparing the food for the evening.

“No,” he answers simply, pinching a piece of fresh baked bread. “What news?”

“The Pope’s son and the papal army have been standing siege at Catherina Sforza’s castle since a month ago,” she answers, her hands in the dough.

“Oh,” he only says because he doesn’t know what else to answer to that. “That can go on forever.”

His mother hums before changing the subject, because she knew everyone in this place and their lives. “Did you hear what happened to Lady Lucia?”

But he did not pay attention to what she said because he was still thinking on Cesare and the siege at the castle, he decided he could help his lord one last time and also say farewell so he excuses himself and goes to ask permission to his employer to take a horse.

-

Sneaking into the campsite is easy for a shadow like him, he is swift and silent footed and knows how to hide so nobody discovers his presence. When he slips inside the tent, Cesare is fast asleep; he looks drained and tired even when sleeping, it comes with the job. Micheletto approaches him silently and kneels beside him, touching his face gently with only his fingertips.

Cesare starts awake and looks at him surprised. “Micheletto, · he says in a rush, looking all over his face, “where have you been?”

And Micheletto wants to tell him everything, wants to say he has missed him and that he will come back but mostly, he wants to lean in and kiss him because Cesare is still beautiful and everything he felt for him once, that was dormant, now has awaken again. He does nothing of the sort, of course.

“Talking to God,” he says instead, as if anyone would believe him, even less Cesare.

“And what did he say?” the man asks, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Nothing,” and he can’t help the disappointment that idea brings.

Cesare is staring at him directly, still half lying down so they are at eye level. “So you are with me once more?” he asks and the hope that laces his voice is also reflected on his eyes and God, Micheletto so wants to say he is.

He does not; he doesn’t say anything for a moment and then instead stands up. “You can battle those walls for weeks, it’ll have no effect,” he walks towards the table where the map is laid down.

Cesare assumes a sitting position and Micheletto can tell he is a little angry or maybe disappointed when he replies. “You just came to tell me that?”

Micheletto turns to look at him, calm as always on the outside. “I was born in Forli, do you forget?” Cesare doesn’t say anything, only remains sitting so he turns back to the map and signals for him to get closer. “There is an old roman quarry,” he starts saying when Cesare is standing next to him on a plaid shirt and leggings, Micheletto doesn’t look at him, “that runs beneath the north tower next to the gate. If you measure your distance triangle a path, that tower will fall,” he signals the spot on the map where the mark should go and after that he starts to turn around to leave but Cesare catches his sleeve before he can move further away.

“You can’t just leave like that,” he says desperately.

Despite it all Micheletto remains firm, for now. “Who’s to stop me? You?” and this last word is uttered in a hoarse voice, as if he might cry given the chance. He takes Cesare’s hand; he is a little reluctant to let him take it, and then places it over where his heart should be. “I’m dead.”

They stay some moments like that; in silence and staring into each other’s eyes, until Cesare deviates his eyes to the side, sadness evident in them, he knows when the man turns back to look at him.

“Goodbye, Cesare Borgia.”

And if Micheletto still had a heart it would have broken in a thousand pieces all over again at that moment, at the sight of the man with such sadness and defeat in his eyes. When he gets out of there and mounts his horse again, he doesn’t spare one last look over his shoulder.

\---

 “Micheletto,” Violeta says one day while sitting at his mother’s, bouncing her baby on her legs. “Would you like to be Francesco’s godfather when we christen him?” she asks it so casually, so sincerely and Micheletto can only stare at her in bewilderment.

“I do not think that is the best idea,” he says, in his low calm voice. “I have nothing to offer him.”

She stays quiet, looking at her child with such love and Micheletto feels a certain envy of that baby. “You love him?” she ends up asking and for a confusing moment he does not know of who she is talking about. “Francesco,” she answers his unspoken question, as if she could read his mind.

He thinks about it for a moment, watches the child bouncing happily on his mother’s lap, watches him smile innocently and he realizes with some shock that he would do anything to spare him the troubles of the world, of knowing cruelty and sadness and then it dawns on him that he does love the infant. “Yes,” he simply says, surprising himself.

Violeta smiles. “He doesn’t need anything else, then.”

And Micheletto knows she is right.

\---

It is a beautiful day in Navarra; Micheletto is sitting in the grass watching the horses. They have come here for the first race of the season and Micheletto could not help to feel reluctant at this new sport but his employer was pretty confident and he pays him so Micheletto cannot complain.

That night, he is at a canteen drinking when a young man sits next to him; he is tall and lean with dark curly hair. When he turns to look at him Micheletto discovers that his eyes are dark as well, there is some resemblance to someone he held dear. The boy smiles at him, not a trace of shyness on his lips. Micheletto smirks a little, not a lust-driven smirk though.

“Smiling at strangers on a place like this can prove dangerous, boy.” Micheletto says, not looking at the young man.

The other lets out a little laugh. “I know how to take care of myself,” he answers in a dulcet kind of voice that Micheletto hates instantly.

He sighs, takes some coins out and stands up. “Pretty things like you are not meant for places like this.”

When he is walking away he hears the boy reply. “And I am sure that a man like you fancies pretty things like me, no? I can offer-“

Micheletto cuts him off. “You should not tempt the devil, boy. For it might prove to be more than what you bargained for.”

And he walks out of the bar, his curiosity peaking a little, he has not slept with anyone since… well, since Pascal. He intends to keep it that way; for a time, at least.  

The next day his employer’s horses win the competition.

\---

Six months after the last time he saw Cesare he receives a letter.

It is a rainy day and its cold outside. His mother is home with him, cooking that day’s meal when the messenger arrives.

“Is for you,” she says. “From a Lucretzia Borgia…” she looks at him confused. “Why would the Pope’s daughter write to you?” she stares at him intently.

Micheletto is sure that the time to tell his mother the truth has arrived but he wants to know the content of the letter first. “Mamma,” he says calmly. “I will tell you but can you read me the letter first, please?”

His mother doesn’t look convinced but her curiosity gets the best of her and she opens the envelope to get out the piece of paper. “Dear Signior Corella,” reads her mother and lets out a huff of laughter. “I write this urgent message to let you know of my brother’s fall in the battle that took place in Naples a month ago,” his mother gasps and Micheletto’s heart clenches painfully at the words. “He is severely wounded, the doctor does not know if he will survive the stab to his stomach. Please, come as soon as you can. I beg of you, Micheletto. My brother would not like not seeing you one last time. I know of the affection he has for you. Sincerely, your Lady Lucretzia.”

When his mother finishes reading, silence falls on them. She is staring at the paper in her hands and he is staring at the table with wide eyes. 

“Micheletto,” his mother says in a soft voice. “Is this man…?”

He nods and replies before she can finish. “Yes, he is Cesare Borgia, the Pope’s son. My previous employer.”

His mother seems to realize something because her eyes widen. “He is the man that came with you that time, is he not?”

He nods again. “Yes.”

“He is not your dottore, then. He is not a dottore.”

“No,” he answers simply.

She stays in silence for a moment, processing all this information. “You do not study medicine.”

“No, I do not study. I know not how to read or how to write,” he confesses.

She shakes her head a little, like if this was too much for her to understand. “And this man, what do you feel for this man?” she raises her eyes to stare at him.

Micheletto lowers his because he can’t help feeling shame at what he is about to admit to and also because he is afraid of his mother rejecting him and calling him a sodomite and her not wanting to see him again. “Love,” he replies.

She stares at him not saying anything, tears running down her face. “Oh my boy, my poor baby boy,” she starts sobbing. “I should have known, maybe I did but never really… oh my boy, forgive me.”

“Mamma,” Micheletto says, taking her hand. “I am sorry for disgracing you, I am sorry if I disappoint you.”

She shakes her head vigorously. “No, no. You have nothing to apologize for, my bambino. I love you, you hear me? You will always be my baby, always.”

He squeezes her hand and then stands up. “I have to go,” he says, he realizes that some tears are falling down his face and rubs at them angrily with his sleeve. “Mamma, I have to go and see him.”

Her mother nods, “Go and when he has healed you must bring him back, he didn’t have the chance to taste my bean stew.”

He cannot help smiling at that, he bends to kiss his mother on the cheek and after that rushes out the door to get his horse.

***

<


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! I finally bring you the third and last chapter of this fic! Sorry about the long delay, school was absorbing, you know? I'm about to finally finish college so, yeah, not much time to work on my fics. But here it is. I tried but I'm really bad at writing smut so, sorry? Also, if there're any mistakes please tell so I can edit, english is not my first language. And last but not least, if you think it's a poor fic closure please tell me, I can try and work on something else.  
> I hope you enjoy it, though! And thanks for sticking around and wait for me (:

 

When Cesare woke up the last thing he expected was to find Micheletto perched against one of the bedposts. For a moment he thought that he might be dead but after another moment the pain on his abdomen brought him back to reality.

“Micheletto,” he croaks his voice hoarse and unused.

The man stares at him for a moment, unmoving and not saying anything. Then he moves to stand nearer and with that low and calmed voice of his says. “My lord.”

Cesare tries to chuckle but it ends up being a coughing fit, with a worried expression Micheletto offers him some water. Cesare sips as best he can without spilling all the contents on himself. “I am not your lord anymore,” he manages to say with some effort.

Micheletto gives him a tight-lipped smile and gently, with only his fingertips, he touches Cesare’s face. “You have always been my lord, my lord.”

Cesare looks at him, his dark eyes that were so vibrant with life once seem so dull right now, he lets a huff of breath. “And still you left me,” there is no reproach on his voice nor resentment, only resignation. “It is so gracious of you to come to say goodbye.”

When Micheletto stares at him, the only thing that Cesare sees is determination and maybe a bit of apprehension. “This is not goodbye, Cesare Borgia.”

Cesare revels in the way Micheletto says his name. The man had only called him by his Christian name thrice in the past and Cesare has relished and cherished each one, the sound of his raspy voice pronouncing his name does things to him; things no other voice has ever done. “I am afraid that it is, my friend. But let us not dwell on it,” he pauses and takes Micheletto’s hand in his. “I missed you,” he whispers.

Micheletto squeezes his hand softly. “I missed you, too.”

They stay in silence for a moment, hands still joined and eyes still locked together. It is true, Cesare had missed him so much, especially his blue and honest eyes that at the same time hid the secrets of the universe.

“How long do you plan to stay?” Cesare asks, fearful of the answer.

“However long you want me to, my lord.”

Cesare gives a rueful smile. “Don’t go, then. Stay.”

\---

  Cesare’s sleep for the first time in what seemed like ages had been uneventful, no nightmares plagues his mind; not with Micheletto lying beside him on his bed. The pain on his lower torso woke him up though, so he turns his head to his right to stare at the man sleeping next to him. If he weren’t injured he would lay on his side so he could admire him from a better angle, this must suffice for now.

Micheletto looks so innocent in his sleep, all worries gone he even looks younger and with a certain vulnerability. Cesare had almost forgotten how the man looks while asleep but not quite. He had missed him, in every aspect of his life, if he is being honest with himself. Micheletto had left a great emptiness in his heart when he left him and now he fears to let it be filled again because he doesn’t know for how long will he stay, if at all.  For now though, he will enjoy his presence.

Cesare raises his left hand and carefully touches Micheletto’s face, he rubs his cheekbone gently and smiles a little when the other man lets out a sigh of contentment and after a moment his eyes started to flutter open. Micheletto smiles at him, his rare little smile that Cesare had missed all this time.

“You’re feeling better, I take it,” he says in his characteristically raspy voice.

Cesare takes his hand back and nods faintly. “Yes, some.”

Micheletto nods, too and then rolls off bed. “I will go fetch the doctor, then.”

He walks towards the door and panic starts to rise in Cesare’s chest. “Wait.”

The other man turns to look at him and somehow he knows what Cesare is going to say because he shakes his head a little. “I will come back, my lord.”

\--

Cesare’s condition continued to improve, after a fortnight of Michelettp’s arrival had come and go he was able to stand up and walk a few steps around his room, sometimes maybe venture down to the gardens but that was still on rare occasions. It still hurt like hell but it was, in a way, bearable.

He was laughing again and it felt good, he also started eating more and that helped with his healing; his fever was gone and with that gone were the hallucinations. Micheletto was still here, bonding with his sister and for some strange reason her son had a liking of him and it was even stranger that the man seemed to like the little boy, too.

“I have a god-son, did you know?” he said once as explanation when Cesare frowned at him after he saw the assassin surreptitiously playing with the boy.

Cesare shook his head. “No, how was I to know? You never wrote,” it was said lightly, with no reproach on it but still, the hurt was still palpable.

“I’m sorry, my lord. i needed the time,” he simply replied.

And Cesare could understand that; he had asked him to kill his lover, after all and that, he imagined, was not an easy task. Yet, Micheletto complied.  “Micheletto,” he called softly, he was about to finally say out loud one of the many questions that had plagued his mind ever since the day he left. “why did you kill him? You loved him, you could have- let him live.”

Micheletto turned to look at him with an eyebrow risen. “You asked it of me, my lord.”

Cesare sighed and didn’t look at him, still. “But you left me after… I thought you hated me, resented me…” he trailed off, not really knowing what to say.

“Cesare,” oh, how he loved when the man said his name, it was a special and rare occurrence, he  rarely used Cesare’s name, that’s why it was more cherishable. “I came back, didn’t I? I was once a stray dog, remember? But then I found a master, I found you.”

And for the moment, that was all the explanation Cesare needed.

\-- 

“Will you leave again, Micheletto? Now that I’m fully recovered,” he asked one day, while walking through the Vatican’s gardens.

The man stayed silent for a few minutes, pondering the answer  truth is, he really hadn’t given it much thought, the only thought being Cesare’s welfare, so now that the othe man breached the subject he found himself clueless as to what to answer. “Do you want me to stay, my lord?” he finally asked.

Cesare stopped walking and regarded him seriously, as if battling internally with some decision. After a moment he looked down and sighed. “I have to part for Franc jn two weeks, maybe two and a half, but first I want you to come with me somewhere else,” he said, insurance evident in his voice.

“Where? When? If you are to part in two weeks, don’t you think you should start the preparations?” Micheletto askes with a risen eyebrow.

Cesare shook his head. “This won’t be long, if we part tomorrow. After this you can decide if you want to stay. And if you choose not to…” he trailed off, not really wanting to think about that possibility, it seemed. “I would prefer if you left when I’m off in France.”

Micheletto sighed, he wamts to go with him wherever. Despite having spent time with Cesare alone these past weeks, they haven’t talked about… anything related to how they were before everything happened, and he really wants to, maybe, kiss Cesare again. It had taken him a really long time to admit to himself that his heart belonged to the man in front of him, God knows he tried to deny it, sodomy was a sin, good thing he’s going to hell already, anyway. “Yes, I’ll go with you.”

 

 

Turns out that the place Cesare was taking him was that forest near Forli, the forest where they had spent their first night together. This surprised Micheletto, why would Cesare bring him here? Maybe he was planning on killing him, he disobeyed his master, perhaps there ought to be consequences. Or… Micheletto didn’t allow himself to hope, hope wasn’t for him.

It was nighttime and they had a fire sparkling and some cheese, meat and wine for dinner. Cesare was staring intently at the flames; trying to deduce from them the secrets of the univers. And Micheletto was staring intently at him, at how beautiful he was. That was always the thing with Micheletto: he always forgot that beautiful things only break his heart.

“Micheletto.”

He was brought out of his musings by Cesare speaking to him. The man was looking at him now, brows knitted together and mouth frowned.

“Yes?” he said, not knowing what else to say.

“The reason I brought you here is-“

“You want to kill me,” he cut the man. He had foreseen this, didn’t he?

Cesare’s expression morphed into one of bewilderment and then a bit of snger and hurt flashed through his face. “No, that’s not why.”

Micheletto didn’t move an inch, not even a muscle. He also said nothing.

Cesare sighed and shook his head, turned around and let out a humorless chuckle. “If I wanted to kill you I’d have killed you long ago,” he said in a low and suspiciously clamed voice.

“Then why bring me here?” he muttered.

Cesare shrugged. “Maybe I wanted to remember, remember the way it was before. It all started here, didn’t it?”

Micheletto nodded, not taking his eyes away from the man.

“I want you to stay,” his lord whispered, lacking that cocky confidence he always possessed. “I’m not going to stop you if you want to leave, nor will I beg you to stay. But I want you to stay, with me.”

“My lord-“ he started to say.

Cesared raised a hand to stop him from going on. “No, in private I am not your lord, Micheletto. In private I’m-“

“Cesare,” now he interrupted him.

Cesare moved so fast Micheletto didn’t see him come closer until his lios were slamming against Micheletto’s. He didn’t move at first, not quite sure of what was happening but when Cesare started to pull away he finally reacted. He brought a hand to wrap around Cesare’s neck and the other cupped his jaw, stubbly from not having shaved in a week, Micheletto loved the feel of it.

Cesare pushed him down slowly; the kiss slow and chaste as well. Micheletto resolved that he’d enjoy whatever his lord wold give him, it won’t matter if this is the last time they’d fuck, he’ll take it. The heart he thought long destroyed beat fast behind his ribs, a beat that was only Cesare’s and no one else’s. He wasn’t a good man, neither was Cesare; they both had a long list of names and other scheming. But the love they felt for each other, because this was both ways, could be their redemption. Micheletto wrapped his arms around Cesare’s back; hands traveling up beneath the fabric of his tunic, skin warm and soft, if only a little jagged with one or two scars, he could feel the knobs of his spine under his fingers. This elicited a soft moan from the pther man that was currently mouthing along his neck.

He pulled back and quickly tugged Micheletto’s shirt off and paused.

“What?” he asked a bit put off.

Cesare shook his head and smiled fleetingly. “Nothing, I was just remembering. It’s been a long time since I saw you naked…”

Micheletto huffed and pulled Cesare’s tunic off. Now he paused and stared.  At the new scar left by the stab; it was long and jagged, thin and a shade paler than Cesare’s skin color. Micheletto felt his heart clenching at the thought of nearly losing the man. Cesare followed his stare and sighed: his hair falling over his face and the assassin felt the need to push it away so he could see Cesare’s face, he didn’t, though. “It’s a reminder of how short life can be, you know? Every time I stare at it, every time I touch it, I-“ he paused and took a deep breath. “I remind myself that I can’t miss the opportunities this second chance has given me.”

He raised his head, his intense gaze finally met Micheletto’s and he gave him a small, real smile. The sort of smile you didn’t see very often because a man like Cesare didn’t have real smiles, he had fake ones he gave to his father, his mother or the world. Micheletto had only seen him smile like this with his sister, Lucretzia and sometimes with him.

Micheletto smiled back one of his own rare, real smiles. Because a man like Micheletto didn’t smile, not even fake ones, very often. Moreover, he never did. Only sometimes with this man in front of him. “What is one of these opportunities you won’t miss, my lord?” he asked, his voice low.

Cesare regarded him seriously for a moment, his pupils dilated and his breathing a little hitched. “Having you again, Micheletto.”

Micheletto lowered his eyes and give a low, ironic huff. “What you want from me is that I submit to you, my lord?”

Cesare looked as if he had just smacked him. “No, no, no. You and I are one of a kind, Micheletto. We are equals and I would never submit to anyone. I would give myself freely to you and I only expect the same from you. People like us, we weren’t born for submission.”

Micheletto quirked a half-smile and cupped Cesare’s cheek. “This is only for you, Cesare Borgia.”

And that undid Cesare; he surged forward and kissed Micheletto with a passion he’d never felt before, changes that being in the bridge of death brought along, thought Micheletto, before wrapping his arms around the Borgia’s neck and pulling him closer to him. Cesare straddled him and left his mouth to trail kisses down his neck and collarbone. Micheletto closed his eyes and moaned softly. He’s never been much of a vocal person during sexual encounters but he knew Cesare enjoyed it, he’ll make the effort.

“Oh, Micheletto. You have no idea how much I missed you,” the man spoke against his skin before trapping one of his nipples with his teeth and that felt so good that the assassin couldn’t do anything but moan louder. He felt Cesare’s smirk and a huff and if they weren’t in the middle of something important, he’d fight Cesare for it but God knows this is more important than anything else.

Micheletto wasn’t prone to tenderness while in bed; he didn’t like taking his lovers while they were facing him, he only kissed before and sometimes after and he liked it rough, though he did enjoy caressing the other’s skin and never hurt them, much.

Cesare was different. Because eventhough Micheletto often thought that there wasn’t much humanity left in him, the other man brought it out effortlessly. At first Micheletto hated him for that; when you were in the killing business you really didn’t have time to cultivate your humanity. But in the end, he’s only human and there was always an exception. And Micheletto was glad his exception was Cesare because he didn’t imagine giving this to anyone else, not even to Pascal. And that’s one of the reasons he came back to this Borgia and he wasn’t going to regret it, he was sure of it.

He was so caught up on his thoughts that he failed to notice when his trousers went off, he was completely naked now and he came back to stop Cesare from taking off his clothes. “No, allow me,” he said with his hand ghosting over the waistband of the other man’s trousers. Cesare nodded and Micheletto knelt so he could pull the piece of clothing down his lord’s legs and then off.

He’s always marveled at how beautiful Cesare is, specially naked and with his hair disheveled and than intense light in his eyes, a faint blush tinting his cheeks and he couldn’t do but kiss him; hard but not rushed and no teeth clashing together but their tongues did battle for dominance. Their breathing came harsher and sweat trickled down their foreheads. Micheletto pushed Cesare’s strands of hair behind his ear and cupped the back of his head. “I’m yours, freely,” he whispered, his voice raspier than usual.

Cesare didn’t say anything, he just nodded and pulled away to rummage on his pack to produce a small jar with some amber-looking liquid. Micheletto leaned back down and made himself comfortable, he spreaded his legs to make room for Cesare. The man opened the jar and coated two fingers with the oil. “Are you ready?” he asked; voice husky, eyes black and his member fully erect. Micheletto licked his lips and gave a small nod in response.

Cesare trailed one cool finger up his tight making a shiver run down Micheletto’s spine, then the digit touched his entrance and he just moaned. Cesare smirked and circled the hole slowly. Micheletto panted. “Noteasing tonight, please.”

But of course Cesare wasn’t listening so he withdrew his finger and instead traced the length of Micheletto’s erection; his finger stopping before reaching the top. Micheletto groaned in frustration. “Cesare,” he said in warning. Which seemed to work before the other man sighed and returned his fingers back to where Micheletto wanted them.

“As you wish,” he tentatively introduced his index finger inside and Micheletto inhaled deeply. Cesare stopped and looked at him with a faint worried expression that Micheletto erased with a gesture of his hand. Cesare joined the first finger with another and started scissoring them to get Micheletto properly open. After some trial and error, Cesare found that spot that made Micheletto see stars and groan loudly. “Oh, yes. You know I love it when you are vocal,” he whispered against his ear and took the chance to bite his earlobe gently, pulling a little with his teeth.

“If that’s what you want, you should hurry. This is no time for teasing,” he said through clenched teeth.

Cesare laughed but complied. He pulled his fingers out and then coated his cock with more oil and placed himself in position, guiding his erection inside painstakingly slow. Micheletto shut his eyes tightly and held his breath, biting his lower lip. Cesare pryed it free with his lips and kissed him to help him relax; one of his hands travelled up one of his tights and grabbed his balls, squeezing just tight enough as he knew Micheletto liked. “You are so tight and it feels so good.”

Micheletto only oanted and pushed his heels against Cesare’s backside to hurry him. The man ignored him and when he was fully in, he did something Micheletto wasn’t expecting at all.

He stopped and grabbing Micheletto around the waist, he sat back on his haunches so Micheletto was sitting on his lap. “I’m not ready to give myself like this but maybe I can let you be on top,” and with that he kissed Micheletto and wrapping his arms around his neck, he started to lean back until he was the one lying on the blanket. Micheletto smiled internally and after a moment of adjustment, he begins to move.

He rolled his hips experimentally and that made Cesare moan, Micheletto was the one smirking now but as he was the one on top, he started with a slow ridding before increasing the pace. Cesare had his hands on his hip now, not halting him but holding him. His head was thrown back, his throat exposed to Micheletto and he didn’t let the chance go; he leaned down and kissed along the column of the man’s neck, biting and licking, sucking at the skin. Cesare was vocal so the forest was filled with a symphony of groans and moans that increased volume as Micheletto increased his pace. After some adjustment of position he finally founf that spot inside him again and Cesare’s symphony was joined by his because, _oh this felt so good._ With Cesare’s right hand wrapped around his cock and Cesare’s own hitting mercilessly at Micheletto’s spot, they rode towards completion together, their  symphony culminating with a shout of each others’ names.

Micheletto collapsed on top of the other; their bodies sticky with sweat and seed but neither of them seemed to care. Their breathing steadied slowly, chests rising and falling and hearts ppunding inside as if they were horses wanting to break free and run together across the fields.

“Micheletto,” Cesare spoke softly, a hand traicing idle paterns against his back, bumping with some jagged scars from old battles. “I said I wasn’t going to say this often and I don’t intend on changing that but I think this is one of those occasions where I can allow myself to say it,” he paused and Micheletto held his breath. He wasn’t used to this, maybe he’ll never be but his battered heart always rejoiced at the sound of the unspeakable words.”I love you,” was pressed against his hair; this was only for them to hear, no one else had the right.

Micheletto smiled. “I love you too,” pressed against the skin of Cesare’s chest. One hand against the scar on Cesare’s lower torso as a reminder. When he felt a smile pressed against his head, he knew he did well on coming back.

 


End file.
